


Of Eclipses and Midnight Suns

by Emerald147



Series: GCSE Fictional Coursework [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dialogue Light, Eclipses, Everyone Is Gay, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, For a second, Gods???, I completely throw away science, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Maybe - Freeform, Original Character(s), Overuse of Metaphors, The Moon - Freeform, The sun - Freeform, gay relationship, small amount of Angst, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 01:31:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19140886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald147/pseuds/Emerald147
Summary: The two boys only meet at twilight and dawn, the brief moments when both the Night and Day exist together. When the light can finally hit the shorter boy’s face, and the taller can see the first hints of the stars that are no longer visible during the day. Those brief moments are electric.





	Of Eclipses and Midnight Suns

There were two boys. 

One was the Night, starlight woven into his hair, which was moonflower-blue, dipped in silver and platinum. Tiny nebulae were sewn into his irises and his smile was supernova-bright and supernova-rare. He was short. But his hair was long, curling down to his lower-back and fading into the air, all wispy and iridescent. Just as the Moon is tied to the tide, he is tied to the sea, water bending and turning at his will. Eyes the colour of a robin’s egg, and fingernails stained by molten sapphire. Thousands of miniscule forget-me-nots bloom wildly on his shoulders and cheeks, weaving new constellations that tell timeless stories. Old galaxies were smudged on his skin; he blended into the darkness, dark clothes hiding in darker shadows, leaving only traces of turpentine and fluorite in his wake. 

The other was the Day. They say he arrived with a swarm of butterflies. Each opalescent, multi-coloured wing leaving an imprint on his skin, making him a wedge of colour in front of the Sun. His hair was never the same, always shifting from gradient to gradient, as if rainbow bismuth was stitched into the strands. His skin was dark – smudged, stained, and painted with purple calla lilies. Sunlight was spun around him, and the air was made hazy by his presence. Much like the Sun he had his own kind of gravity, constantly pulling people towards him; ribbons of light streaming from his smile and wildflowers sometimes blooming in his hands, their pollen dusting his fingertips. His eyes were bright, peridot green and radiant. Sometimes, when the light hit them just right, they would look near gold – tiny dancing suns that beamed and bloomed into marigolds. 

The two boys only meet at twilight and dawn, the brief moments when both the Night and Day exist together. When the light can finally hit the shorter boy’s face, and the taller can see the first hints of the stars that are no longer visible during the day. Those brief moments are electric. 

They used to be frantic. 

The two boys trying to learn each other, as if unaware of the eons they had ahead of them. The Night trying desperately to commit the taste of candied ginger and nutmeg to his tongue, like cinnamon but darker. How only the Night’s Moons could reveal the Corona, the parts kept hidden from most. The different Moons the Night could bring, the Harvest Moon with the colour of an Autumn Gold pumpkin, or the rose quartz of his Strawberry Moon. The Day dedicated himself to learning the distinct shape and position of the Mare Tranquillitatis and the Oceanus Procellarums and all the lunar seas and craters. They wanted so much to know each other. 

Desperate. 

They were wild young gods pulled around by the universe, unsure of the duration of their stay in such a chaotic place. For so long they were afraid. First, they were afraid of each other, both believing the other was there to bring about their end. But they learned that it was simply change – something that came so naturally to some but felt awkward and unusual to them. They adjusted, steadily gaining more and more trust for each other. Soon they were scared to lose each other. Every dusk and every dawn was tinged with acrid heartache and fear that saturated the air and made it heavy. The closer they grew the more scared they became. Terrified that a piece of space debris could hit the Moon and crack and shatter it. Terrified that the Sun would run out of hydrogen and nuclear fusion would no longer happen and the sun would die some ethereal death. Terrified to be without the other. On the worst days, when the Night could barely keep his physical form, the Moon would bring him into the sky anyway, and he would be calmed by the Day, who would sit, grinning on the sun and wink at him. Missing his love, the Day will ride the Aurora Borealis bringing his colours with him; and the Night’s stars would shine an even brighter hello. 

There were rare days, oddities that the humanity the boys watched over both feared and revered. When the Night was panicked, the waters below him were rough, and the clouds would rush in to cover the stars. He would pull the moon with him straight into the daylight and straight into the sun. The humans called it an Eclipse; the Night called it an embrace. Hidden from the Earth, the Day would leap from the sun and meet the Night in the middle. For the briefest of moments, they could be still and together, suspended in the middle of the Sun and the Moon. 

On nights rarer still, the Day would feel so alone, left with nothing else in the sky, that he would hold the Sun in place, straining every part of his will to stave off the sunset. Waiting for the Moon. And when the Moon did rise, bringing the Night with it, they would stay together amidst the sky empty of stars until the Moon dragged the Night away – a tired Day would begin the morning again. Once again, the humans had a name for it, one that made more sense: The Midnight Sun. 

Slowly they softened to it all. The Day finding comfort and calmness in the stillness of the Night, the soft humming that would float up and sit in the air, and the Night himself stepped out of the shadows and finally found warmth in the other’s light, finally felt the loving touch of the dying Sun on his face. The Day would spill red chrysanthemums, violets, yellow tulips, white and red carnations, daisies, snowdrops, myrtles, lilacs, roses, honeysuckle, Peruvian heliotropes, water lilies, and Volkamenias from his veins, sometimes stained with pyrite or copper; they would spill over the walls of his fingers to be caught in the Night’s soft hands, who would then always offer them back to the Day, who would always refuse with a don’t-be-silly smile. The Night would create patterns in the sky with what stars were available, making stories out of what was once just shapes; lying underneath the vastness of existence, he would tell his stories to the other boy, his voice low and soothing. 

Later still, they became tranquil, realising that, though eventually their time would end, nothing that lasted forever could have purpose. Therefore, they gave purpose to their time, even if they simply sat together and said nothing. They were serene. There were still Eclipses and Midnight Suns, and the Night would still bring the Moon to visit the Day, and the Aurora Borealis still lit up the sky. And every time the Sun disappeared over the horizon, the Day would say to the Night in a voice that sounded like sunbursts and rushing waterfalls and joy: 

“Fear not, love, for my Sun will give your Moon light. I will be with you, even when you can’t see me.” 

And every time the Moon would sink under the ever-growing weight of the dawn, slipping away cocooned in warmth, the Night would say to the Day in a voice like waves and white-noise and hope: 

“Fear not, love, for my stars are still there in the sky. I will be with you, even when you can’t see me.” 

So, they were unafraid.


End file.
